“Look for yourself.”
If you had been foolish enough to let Maggie slip away from you, my instruction would have been to give this amount to her so she would never again feel the insecurity she was burdened with through no fault of her own. I trust you would have done that, Beau, without contesting my wish on this matter.
Beau instantly saw his grandfather’s wisdom in taking this bequest out of the will. With a year’s grace, he wouldn’t have begrudged Maggie the million, but faced with it straight away, he probably would have raised even worse hell than he had.
“He was so kind to me,” was her heartfelt murmur.
“Maggie, you did a lot for him, too,” Beau assured her, feeling fine about everything until he read the next paragraph.
I have one request to make. When my great grandson is born, I would like you to follow the tradition of the Prescott family in assigning a name which will develop strength of mind and character and lend a unique individuality to live up to. My personal fancy is Marian.
“Over my dead body!” Beau growled.
“Marian!” Maggie exclaimed. “I thought that was a girl’s name.”
“Yes! Like Vivian and Beverly and... Goddamn it! I am not going to saddle a son of mine with a name like that! Beau was bad enough.”
“I like Beau. It suits you. I liked Vivian, too. It suited him. Maybe...”
“Don’t say it! I will not consider Marian.”
“Well, maybe we’ll only have daughters.”
“Let’s hope.” He lovingly patted her stomach. “You’d better be a girl in there.”
The letter finished off with his grandfather saying he was now off on the greatest adventure of all and he wished them both the very best of this world.
It left them smiling.
“I guess you could say he came to our wedding,” Beau said with a warm glow of contentment.
“I think he’s been here all day.”
“Yes. But the night is definitely ours, Maggie.”
He drew her into his arms and their kiss excluded everyone else, a long, satisfying private celebration of a togetherness that was uniquely theirs.
Five months later a boy was born.
He was christened Marian John Richard Prescott.
Beau insisted it was up to the boy himself to choose what name he wanted to live with and that his great-grandfather couldn’t have his way about everything. In the meantime, Maggie could call him Marian. If she really, really wanted to. He wouldn’t deny her that right as long as she understood it was an act of love on his part.
Maggie smiled very lovingly at both him and their son and said she thought family tradition was nice.
Beau remembered she had come from nowhere, saw her need, understood it, and surrendered with a sigh of resignation to the inevitable.
Marian Prescott developed a lot of character.
Emma Darcy
MISTRESS to a married man…no way!
Miranda realised she was gritting her teeth again and consciously relaxed her jaw. She’d end up grinding her teeth right down if she kept thinking of Bobby Hewson and his blithe assumption they could continue as lovers, his forthcoming marriage being no barrier whatsoever to what they shared!
Well, he could find someone else to warm his bed next time he flew into Sydney. Adultery was not her scene. She might have been a fool to have let Bobby play her along with promises for three years, but she was not going to be used for his extra-marital pleasure. She’d seen what that second-string kind of relationship had done to her mother. Never, never, never would she go down the same demeaning and destructive path!
“Miss Wade, your gin and tonic.”
Miranda wrenched her mind off burning thoughts and looked up at the smiling airline hostess who proceeded to lay a serviette on the small metal drinks tray, which extended from the wide armrest of the first-class seat. A little bottle of gin, a can of tonic water and a glass with ice cubes were set down.
Nice to be treated to first-class service by her new employers, Miranda thought, and hoped the drink might help relax her. “Thank you,” she said, returning the smile.
The hostess’s eyes glowed with interest as she remarked, “I just noticed the book in your lap, King’s Eden. Are you heading there?”
It was the book Elizabeth King had given her for background information, once Miranda had signed the two-year contract that tied her to managing the wilderness resort. A history of the place and the family who owned it might be dry reading, but mandatory in the circumstances, and the best use of these hours in flight to Darwin. Miranda sternly told herself it was time she concentrated on her future course and put the past in the past.
“Yes, I am,” she answered, deciding to plumb the interest being displayed. “Do you know it?”
“I’ve been there,” came the obviously enthusiastic reply. “It’s what you might call a legendary place in the Kimberly, owned and run by the cattle Kings. Now that they’ve opened up the wilderness park for tourists and built a resort to cater for them, it’s a very popular outback destination.”
“Did you stay at the resort?”
“Not at the homestead.” An expressive eye-roll. “Too expensive. A group of us stayed three days in the tented cabins at Granny Gorge.”
Tented cabins, camping sites, bungalows and home-stead suites—four levels of accommodation to be managed, Miranda reminded herself—a far cry from a five-star hotel. Was she mad to take it on…two years in the wilderness?
“Did you think it was worth the trip?” she asked the hostess.
“Oh, yes! Well worth it! I’ve never seen so many butterflies. The trees around there were filled with them. And we swam in a gorgeous turquoise water hole fed by waterfalls off the cliffs. Great way to have a shower.”
“So you’d definitely recommend it.”
“To anyone,” the hostess confirmed. “Don’t miss the Aboriginal carvings in the caves if you go to the Gorge.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
Well, King’s Eden had appealed to at least one person, Miranda noted as the hostess moved off. Its only appeal to her at the present moment, was the chance it offered to live her life on her own terms.
If she’d stayed with the Regency hotel chain, she might have moved from assistant manager in Sydney to an overseas posting, an ambition she’d once nursed, but it would have only happened now if she’d also stayed sweet with Bobby. He’d made that clear, offering steps up the managerial ladder as a persuader to win her compliance with his marriage, which, he’d argued, was only for the purpose of cementing an alliance between two great international hotel chains.
Another lie!
The photograph of his French fiancée in the newspaper was more than enough proof to Miranda that Bobby would find his honeymoon no hardship at all.
He’d